His Command

by Sophie H. Morgan

  “I’m not wearing that.” A woman’s voice, hard, implacable, drew his attention to the counter. She wore an oversized sweater, jeans, and a huge diamond on her finger that flashed as she folded her arms with a scowl.

  “But, gorgeous, it’s made for you,” the man with his back to Ryder said in a smooth purr. “You know how much you like baking.”

  She scoffed. “Naughty Maid is not thinking about baking, I assure you.”

  “Maybe if she was a French one . . .”

  That brought a reluctant smile to her lips. “You’re ridiculous. And baiting me.” She nudged him. “You knew I’d never wear it.”

  “I live in hope.” The man eased closer, hands on her hips. “Maybe not to WFY’s party, but at home. You can tell me how dirty I am.”

  “Jax . . .” she warned as he nibbled her ear, expression not as resolved as her voice. “Work. Rules.”

  Of course, Ryder realized, coming out of his fog. The Book Nook. Charlie Donahue’s store. And Jax was obviously talking about the blowout Halloween party WFY threw every year. As WFY’s East Coast front man, he was expected to go with his future bride in tow.

  Luka had pointedly disinvited Ryder unless he was no longer in the mood to throw brothers off balconies. Apparently that wasn’t the kind of PR Director Clare liked.

  Charlie spotted Ryder then and batted Jax off. “Customer,” she hissed, turning a beaming smile on Ryder. “Need any help?” she asked.

  She wasn’t beautiful, but there was something in her face, her unusual tilted eyes, that sparked. Ryder could see why Jax was attracted, though he himself had sworn off women for a decade or so.

  “Just browsing,” he managed in a smokes-eight-packs-a-day voice. He hadn’t used it much.

  Jax swiveled with a grin. His face was instantly recognizable, perfect in every feature, as was the gold hair that shone with its own light—or so said one article Ryder had mocked once.

  “Ryder,” he greeted, one hand still casually around Charlie’s waist. “Since when have you been into reading?”

  “It’s for Leo.”

  “Thought his party was the other night?” Jax made a face. “Sorry, by the way. Obligations and all that. I’d have stopped by if I could.”

  “No worries.” He hadn’t really expected the famous Genie to show; Jax was known as a stay-at-home man these days. Ryder pushed away the incoming thoughts about Hailey resolutely. “Anyway, it’s not about the party. I, ah, need a make-up present.”

  “What’s he like?” Charlie asked, business hat on.

  “Annoyingly right all the time, a little unsociable, and weirdly funny.”

  She laughed. “I meant, what kind of books does he like?”

  “Oh. I dunno. The long ones by Russian names that look like anagrams.”

  Charlie headed off in search of the perfect book, nose for the sale.

  Ryder stuck where he was. “So you’re going to the Halloween party?”

  “It’s not a party until I’m there.” Jax winked and then rolled his eyes. “Mandatory. Trying to convince Charlie to go for more than an hour will be the hardest part—and getting her to dress up as something other than a ghost, which is not what the sexiest man of the year’s fiancée should be wearing.” He raised his voice so she could hear.

  “Then he can find another date,” she shouted back. She emerged with a book from the stacks. “I told you, no hemlines shorter than my fingertips.”

  “You see what I have to put up with.” Jax’s sigh echoed with drama.

  He fooled nobody; anyone with eyes could see how much the couple adored one another, how they slotted into a strong unit that could tackle anything. But then, Charlie was a brave woman who stuck by the man she loved.

  Ryder glanced at the book Charlie handed him. “He’s got that one. You got anything with a lot of murder?”

  “Russian novelists and murder kinda go hand in hand.”

  His mouth twitched in the first smile he’d managed since Hailey’d left him standing in the beach house.

  Charlie put the book on the counter. “So you work for WFY, too?”

  He frowned. “You don’t recognize me?”

  “Wow, all you Genies really need to get over yourselves.” She shook her head as if in disbelief and headed back to find him a different book.

  “Charlie doesn’t pay much attention to Genie news,” Jax explained with an I-know-can-you-believe-her-but-she-is-adorable grin. “She’s one of a kind.”

  Ryder was quiet for a moment. “You don’t regret it?” he blurted out. “Giving up immortality?”

  “No.” Jax’s lips quivered, almost amused, as if the question was ridiculous. “Why’re you . . . ?” Something clicked in the famous blue-gold eyes and he lost the smile. “That woman, the one who went on Lisette’s show.”

  “Hailey.” Ryder closed his eyes. A thousand memories swirled in full Technicolor, her laugh, her eyes, her snark and sass, her tears.

  “An ex, right?” At Ryder’s barely there nod, Jax cocked a brow. “Then why are you asking about giving up immortality?”

  “Small talk?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so.” The Genie with the shallowest reputation studied him shrewdly. “You love her.”

  Ryder’s initial response was rejection. But . . .

  “Yeah,” he realized as the emotion burst out of hiding. Angels sang a Hallelujah-can-you-believe-how-dumb-this-idiot-is chorus. His hand trembled as he wiped a hand down his jaw. “Crap. Yeah, I do.”

  “Then why’re you letting her go?”

  Ryder shifted. His white tee stuck to his chest as he moved, sodden. “We’re guys,” he said, uncomfortable, due to both the wet shirt and the conversation. “Is this really what guys talk about?”

  “All right.” Jax affected a deep voice. “Hey, dude, you don’t have to stand for that shit. Go win back your woman.”

  “That’s how men talk?”

  “It’s all I’ve got.” He grinned, reached out to clap a hand on Ryder’s arm. “And some advice: don’t let her go. No matter what you have to give up, it’s worth it.”

  His gaze warmed as Charlie came back with more books.

  “Okay, so I found three Russian novels with incredibly bloody . . . where did he go?” She glanced around the store.

  Jax came around the counter and took the books from her, tossing them behind him. “Gone to find his mortal,” he said, drawing Charlie closer. “To win her back. Following my example.”

  Charlie craned her neck. “You sure he’s gone, ’cause I was going to sell him at least three books.”

  “I’ll buy them. Pretend I’m a customer.” Jax’s voice deepened as he slid his hands down. And down. “Sell me something.”

  “Jax . . .”

  He cut off her warning with a thorough kiss. “Let’s talk about you appearing as Naughty Bookseller.”

  * * *

  The WFY annual Halloween party was always a guaranteed success. Each year one of the three Partners picked a worthwhile cause or charity to donate the price of the tickets to, and A-list celebrities in their droves pulled every favor they had to get an invite. It was an event to make or break careers. Costumes were mandatory, and masks preferable.

  This year’s party, from what Ryder could tell, was already on its way to being spectacular and it had only chimed midnight. Held in the New York Public Library’s event rooms, the masquerade theme had been continued throughout with slashes of red, white, and black material hung everywhere, mirrors beyond mirrors suspended in midair or against the walls, and candelabras with black and red candles burning in the shadowy alcoves. The music was primal, encouraging the masked to lose their inhibitions. Not that it took much.

  Ryder threaded his way through belly dancers from the Far East, pirates and secret agents, opera singers and even a few Adams and Eves. Though many greeted him behind the black-and-white masks that were handed out on entry, Ryder brushed them off with a nod as he searched the rooms for who he needed.

  S
omeone grabbed him from behind. “Ry.”

  “Leo?” Ryder turned, surprised. His twin hadn’t mentioned coming tonight. “What’re you—?”

  “Did you see a woman in a silver dress come past here?” Leo interrupted, his hair mussed as if he—or someone else—had run their hands through it. Minus a mask but plus a white wig, which he carried in his hand, he was dressed like a duke from the Regency. He even wore ice-white stockings.

  It was enough to stir amusement in Ryder’s chest. “What are you wearing?”

  Leo just shook his head, annoyed. “Long story. Have you seen her?”

  “I just got here.” Ryder eyed him. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know.” Leo gazed past him, searching. “I’ve got to go.”

  He was gone before Ryder could question him further.

  Ryder stared after him before he shook his brother’s bizarre behavior off. Leo wasn’t the only Genie on a mission tonight. He’d already secured Kate’s help in his grand plan, and now he was after bigger fish.

  It took only another ten minutes of circulating and avoiding grabby hands to see them.

  Ryder made his way over, planting himself right in the way. “I need to talk to you both.”

  “Ryder?” In a red silk shirt with a black jacket, genuine red horns curving out of his loose black hair, and a pitchfork he twirled like some bad gangster, Luka looked Ryder up and down behind his black mask, one eyebrow lifted. “What’re you supposed to be?” he drawled. “A hobo?”

  Okay, so Ryder hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and he hadn’t bothered to look farther than the floor for clothes. He glowered. “I didn’t intend to come here.”

  “But you did. Make a little effort.” Luka turned to the frozen fairy queen beside him. “Think you could wave your magic wand and get him a better costume?”

  The Director, outfitted in a ball gown the color of blue frostbite, turned her chilled gaze on Ryder, the famous pearl-flecked icy eyes stenciled around with glitter. Her platinum hair was coiled and piled high, anchored with what looked like a genuine diamond tiara, matched by the diamond studs at her ears. Iridescent fairy wings curved out of her back.

  She didn’t say anything.

  Luka turned back to Ryder. “Sorry, no dice.”

  Ryder ignored him, turning the force of his attention on Director Clare. “I’m here to throw myself on your mercy.”

  Luka snorted as if the idea of the Director owning any was ridiculous.

  The Director silenced him with a look. “Why,” she asked in a voice that was as sharp as icicles, “would you need my mercy?”

  “Because there’s no one else I can turn to.” He inhaled. Hail Mary sprang to mind. “Please,” he said, no BS, straight out. “I need your help.”

  * * *

  Luka and Clare watched as Ryder left them, heading straight for the exit without stopping to browse through the tempting treats who pouted as he went.

  Luka scratched his neck with his pitchfork. “Huh. Didn’t see that coming.” He slid her a sidelong glance. It sang with satisfaction. “He’s in love with her.”

  “So it would seem.” Clare arched an eyebrow at a scientist who was approaching. He made an abrupt 360 and scuttled away.

  Luka watched with amusement.

  “He’s a fool,” Clare said, soft. Her wings fluttered behind her, spritzing the floor with sparkles.

  Luka shrugged, grinning at a nearby slave girl. “Aren’t we all fools when it comes to love?” He turned contemplative. “Do you think they’ll agree?”

  “Perhaps, though he might regret it.” Clare’s brow was touched by a frown as she lingered on the exit Ryder had used. “Love.” She said it with distaste.

  Luka nudged her with his pitchfork, grinning when she froze him with a glare for daring to touch her. “It’s not so bad. Makes the world go round.”

  “That’s money.”

  “Well, love keeps it populated. And if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to go rustle up some innocent victims to ‘deal’ with.” His laugh was purposefully evil.

  All it got him was a look drier than champagne. “You’re hilarious, Luc.”

  “That’s ‘Prophet’ for at least a week.” He winked and strolled off before the frost in her stare welded him to the spot.

  * * *

  Hailey placed the carton on her kitchen table, balancing the phone between her shoulder and her ear. “Okay, I can hear you. Keep up the pep talk.”

  Her dad chuckled, all papa-bear growl. He used to chase her like one when she’d been three, all around the boat they’d used to own in Maine when he’d been assigned there. “You know how proud of you we are, Hailey May.”

  “I know, but it helps to hear.” Especially since hardly anything else gave her the warm and fuzzies these days.

  She opened the carton and set out the items from the office. She’d cleared out her desk the day after Halloween after Erica had cleared her of working any notice, but hadn’t unpacked for a few days, dreading that the omigod-what-have-I-done panic might be unleashed along with the box’s contents.

  Hailey held up the mug she’d always drunk from, inspecting it in the early morning light. Strange how calm she was, really. She’d always assumed if any of her I-quit fantasies were realized, doom and gloom and Evanescence music would follow her everywhere. But actually she felt . . . okay.

  Not that her dad would believe her. “I’m telling you,” he said for the fourth time that call. “You did the right thing leaving that place. I’ve been telling you—”

  “For years, I know.” Hailey rolled her eyes with affection. “We’re not all as smart as you, Commander.”

  “Cheeky.” He harrumphed. “What’re you going to call this new business then?”

  “I haven’t thought yet.” Hailey set the mug down and reached for one of her—many—notebooks. “Quentin and Max are coming over later to strategize.”

  Her friends had immediately wanted to jump ship with her, but Hailey had talked them down, literally back-against-the-door style so they couldn’t charge to Erica’s office and resign en masse. She had to go to the bank, get a business loan, find office space, reach out to her client list and scrounge up a portfolio, recommendations . . . So much to do before she could even think of hiring staff and paying them. Her friends, love them as she did, had bills and rent and food to buy. If—when, she decided with a jutted chin—she made a success of her company, she’d welcome them with open arms. And a tight checkbook.

  She grinned and listened as her dad continued one of his infamous pep talks, which had got her through high school graduation, college, a few failed relationships, Ethan, and more recently, Ryder.

  Her hand stalled on a notebook at He Who Should Not Be Named. She’d been successful for about five minutes there without thinking of him. A new record.

  As she held the notebook aloft, the pages fanned and out slipped a white flower that had been pressed between them.

  Her heart banged against her ribs as she recognized it as the flower he’d conjured to tuck in her hair that night in Malibu. She’d buried herself in work; was it any surprise the flower had made its way into one of her notebooks?

  Her fingers trembled as she picked it up.

  For you. Ryder’s sinful voice sounded so loud, she dropped the flower, half-expecting him to be there when she whirled around. But of course, he wasn’t. Her apartment remained empty.

  And this was better?

  “Hales?”

  “Yeah.” Hailey closed her eyes and threatened the brimming tears with violence if they so much as touched a lash. “I’m here.”

  “Nervous?” he asked with a knowing note.

  She exhaled, staring at the flower. “Sometimes, when I think of everything that’s to come, what I have to do by myself. Alone.” The last word slipped out, unbidden, and she dashed the pain that threatened to rise.

  There was a moment on the other end of the line. “Well,” her dad finally said, “it’s real simple. Do
you love it?”

  For a second, Hailey could’ve sworn he’d said him.

  The flower blurred into Ryder’s face. She couldn’t lie. “Yes.”

  “Then this is what’s right. It’s a risk, but sweetheart, love is a risk. It’s the best kind of gamble. Lord knows where I’d be if I’d chickened out of loving. You just got to trust in your heart, and screw what the odds say. Take a chance and realize it’s out of your control. The best things usually are.”

  It smacked her in the head like a prizefighter’s one-two combination. Epiphany.

  Oh, God.

  Pain choked her as her breath refused to come out.

  Ryder had been right. About Ethan, about her running scared. About her not giving them a chance. She was a coward—and she might have lost him for good.

  She finally managed a thin trickle of air. Her voice was raw. “We’re not talking about business now, are we?”

  “We never were, sweetheart.”

  Hailey inhaled. “I have to go, Dad.”

  “I know.” He paused. She heard the grin in his voice as he said, “Lawsons always get their man.”

  34.

  It took thirty minutes of pleading and a favor to be named at a later date, but finally Leo budged and told Hailey where Ryder was.

  “Kate called him in to help with some event at the Ritz-Carlton,” he’d said, clipped, over the phone. “You know, ’cause Ryder’s a good guy like that.”

  Though Leo had said it to drive the point home, Hailey couldn’t agree more. She only hoped that Ryder would be the ultimate good guy and forgive her.

  The taxi she hailed got held up on Broadway so she threw some bills at the driver and jumped out, hiking up the sidewalk in the heels she’d worn when she’d first seen Ryder. Screw a curse; they’d forced her into Ryder’s life. They were a goddamned good-luck charm.

  Not to mention they made her legs looks great. As did the forest-green sheath that clung to her body like a shadow and brought out her eyes.

  Ryder always had liked her eyes.

  It took ages to arrive at the hotel, yet she was there before she was ready. Deep breaths. Courage.

  The doorman nodded at her as she walked up to one of the doors. “Ms. Lawson. Planning another wedding?”